The Recital
by summergirl19993
Summary: This is just a story about a girl with a bad past and how she copes with her teenage life I guess. I'm kinda just forming the story as I go along. It's my first story. Criticism is appreciated.


I was eleven years old when my mother first came at me with the knife. It was the day of another one of my dance recitals. I wasn't quite sure why she choose that day to come after me. It started out normal. Well, as normal as any dance recital was.

That morning I got up early, promising myself that I wouldn't make my Aunt Sarah wait for me again. She already did so much for me. She bought me clothes, brought me to my recitals, went to parent/guardian-teacher meetings, or anything else that my mother refused to do for me. I showered in record timing and slipped on my costume. After some teasing, my hair was pulled up in a bow. Than, I expertly applied my makeup.

Most people would scoff at the thought of an eleven year old doing makeup well, but you learn a lot from YouTube. Also, my ballet instructors wanted us to have a certain "look" with the makeup, so I couldn't have just skipped it. And my mother sure as hell wasn't helping me. When I was sure I looked ballerina material, I tiptoed down the stairs, careful as to not wake my mother up.

I nearly fell down the stairs when I saw my mother standing next to the counter. I hurried to compose myself.

"What are you doing up this early?" I asked my mother cautiously. She was dressed to the nines. Whenever I saw her, which was rare, she looked old, worn down, and wore a long red robe that hung off her slim frame like drapes. She was a beautiful woman when she tried, but it didn't seem that she did very often. At least that's how it seems when I do see her. We both tend to have a silent agreement to stay within our respectable parts of the house, or go into shared rooms at certain hours when the other is not.

"You have a dance recital today, do you not?" It was a statement rather than a question.

"Yes but... I thought Aunt Sarah was bringing me. Like she always does," I responded.  
"She was going to, but I called her and told her I would." I didn't know how to respond to this. How was one supposed to respond when her mother, a woman that despised her, tells her that she was going to bring her to a dance recital when she refused to for the passed four years? I thought that things were changing, that maybe we could have a family again. I smiled tentatively and slipped out the back door. I got into the backseat of the family car and buckled up. A moment later, my mother got in too. She tried making conversation with me, but all of them seemed to drift off.

When I was six years old, I had been riding in the car on my families Sunday trips. This was back when everything was good. Everyone was happy. My father was driving, my mother in the passenger seat, and my three year old sister named Zoey, and I in the back. My sister and I were fighting over God knows what when my father turned around in his seat and screamed at us to knock it off. Both of us ignored him, and having the short temper that he did, he slapped Zoey across the face. Both her and I were silent. My mother screamed at him never to touch her again. He, in turn, slapped my mom too. I started screaming. Seeing the angry muscle twitch in the jawline, I braced myself for his wrath upon me.

It was in those few seconds that he was turned around that it happened. A car smashed into us. My father, who never wore a seat belt, flew through the windshield. Zoey died on impact. My mother had a broken leg. I was sitting there, unscathed. Everyone but my sister survived. The next 11 months were brutal. My parents fought constantly. My father was drunk most of his waking hours. Than on that day, one year later, he hung himself. My mother blamed me for my father and sister's deaths, so she stopped being a mother to me. Truthfully, inside, I kind of blame myself too.

When we reached my studio, my mother grabbed a bag I hadn't seen her bring into the car and got out. I followed her inside. My main instructor, Carlie, greeted me at the sign-in desk with a smile. When she saw my mother though, her smile faltered.

"Hello Aurora. It's been a while." Carlie said to my mom. There was a bit of tension in the air. Carlie didn't approve of Aurora abandoning me after my father died.

"Hello Carlie. What a pleasure to see you again." Aurora lied, with a smile so sweet it masked the hatred she felt for the other woman. Aurora bought a ticket and disappeared into the showroom.

"Okay Kim. Let's get you to the stage." Carlie said as she directed me to the door that would lead me backstage. As I got in position, I began to feel nerves. I never felt nerves. Dancing was one thing that I always felt 100% comfortable doing. The curtains started to open as I plastered a smile onto my face. I found my mother in the crowd. She looked collected and elegant.

The music started and I let the rhythm take hold of me. Everything seemed to be blocked out and it was just me and the music. Leaps, pirouettes, twirls, and a cheering crowd later, I gracefully ended in a arabesque position, perfectly in time with when the music ended. As I looked through the crowd to where my mother was sitting, I became confused. She was no longer there.


End file.
